


Protection

by Star_Sniper



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Belly Kink, F/M, Force Feeding, Forced Weight Gain, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Weight Gain Kink, chubby!armin, fat kink, fat!Eren, stuffing kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5446895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Sniper/pseuds/Star_Sniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa vows to protect Eren, no matter what. Even if it means kidnapping him and feeding him until he's too fat to join the Survey Corps. Can Eren escape, or will Mikasa follow up on her threat to stuff him until he's too fat to move?</p><p>[[WARNING: Weight gain/force feeding/fat fetish]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't intended to be Mikasa bashing. She really is trying to help Eren in her own way. 
> 
> Also let me know if there's any tags I've missed.

Eren found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. The drifts and drabs of clarity allowed him to take in snippets of his current surroundings, unfamiliar cobblestone walls and the more familiar smell of drying hay. He felt warm floorboards underneath his back, and sunlight shone in from a window set in the angled roof. On opening his eyes again the sunlight had faded, replaced with an inky black sky. A lantern now hung from a hook set in the ceiling, the flickering flame casting shadows around the small room. Eren blinked away the remnants of fatigue, and forced himself to sit up. His arms were shaky and weak, and they trembled under his weight. He rubbed a fisted hand over his eyes, and not for the first time, wondered just where he was. 

“... 'lo?” Eren's voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat with a sharp and painful cough, “Hello? Anyone there?” Silence greeted him, and he forced himself up onto his feet. He swayed slightly, and held his hand against the sloped wall to steady himself. Given the shape and structure of the room, he was in an attic of sorts. The oddly comfortable silence suggested that he had been moved out of the city, and into the countryside. Eren moved over to the window, and stood up on his tip toes to push it open. Cool air drifted in through the narrow gap, and he could hear the gentle braying of cows in the distance. 

“How did I end up out here?” Eren rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, “Where's Armin... Mikasa?” His legs felt heavy as he walked the length of the attic room, dazed eyes looking for a way out. Whatever he had been drugged with was still lingering in his system, he reasoned. He crouched on finding a trap door at the far end of the room, but a tug of it's iron ring revealed that it was locked on the other side. Eren gritted his teeth as he pulled harder on the ring. The trap door didn't budge. Eren heaved a frustrated sigh between his teeth, and paced back and forth along the room, searching for anything that could help him. 

Wisps of hay were scattered across the floorboards. A couple of heavy sacks were folded neatly in one corner, along with an unmarked crate. Eren's eyes drifted back towards the lantern. He was positive that the lantern hadn't been there when he had first opened his eyes. Someone had come in with it while he had been unconscious, and it stood to reason that said person would come back. Eren slumped back down onto the floorboards, pulling one of the folded up sacks to rest underneath his head. All he had to do was wait for the person, no, his captor, to return. If he was lucky, he could get the jump on them, and escape down the hatch. 

Eren grinned to himself as he waited. And waited. The candle in the lantern melted, the flame becoming lower and dimmer. The night sky outside lightened to a navy blue, then to a deep violet. Pink clouds formed across the horizon as the sun began to slowly rise, golden streams of light streaming in through the glass. Eren shifted his weight carefully, his eyes never leaving the trap door. Every muscle was tensed, his body poised for attack. He had the element of surprise in his side, Eren could only hope that his captor was going to assume that he was still asleep.

Finally, when the sky outside had blossomed into an endless blue, there was a creak from below. Eren curled one hand into a fist, his other flat against the floor. The trap door shuddered as the lock was removed from the other side, and it began to open. Eren pushed himself up onto the balls of his feet, ready to rush his captor. But then that head of dark hair came into view, along with painfully familiar dark eyes, and he found himself stumbling mid-attack. He fell to his knees in surprise, his eyes wide as Mikasa climbed her way elegantly into the room. 

“Mikasa?” Eren gaped at his sister, his mind unable to comprehend just what he was seeing, “What are you doing here... what am I doing here....? Are you,” hope flared briefly in his chest, a grin spreading across his face, “You're here to take me back, right? You're here to rescue me.” Warmth and guilt curdled in the pit of his stomach, how often had he chided Mikasa for being overprotective? Yet here she was to save him, to take him back to the city. His hope started to fade as Mikasa slowly shook her head, strands of dark hair brushing against her pale cheeks. 

“No. We're staying here,” Mikasa explained calmly, setting down a bucket on top of the now closed trap door, “It's safer here. I can protect you here. Remember what I said?” her dark eyes found Eren's terrified ones, “We don't have to fight. We don't have to risk our lives. We can just farm, like we used to. Just you and me.” Eren stared at her, anger bubbling up from the pit of his stomach.

“Mikasa, we've gone over this!” Eren exploded angrily, rising to his feet, “I don't want to do that! I want to fight, I want to stop the Titans! You can't just make me do what you want to do!” he stalked towards his sister, his hands clenched into fists, “I'm going back to the city. I'm going to continue my training, I'm going to join the Survey Corps, and there's nothing-” he was cut off as Mikasa drove her fist into his stomach, sending him flying across the length of the room. He landed painfully on the floorboards, gasping for breath as the wind was knocked out of him. 

“I am going to protect you,” Mikasa continued softly as she crawled towards Eren's sprawled form, scraping the bucket along the floor with her, “This is the only way I know how. Eren, I promised to protect you, no matter what. This,” her gaze softened slightly, “This is the only way I know how.” She pinned Eren's smaller form underneath her own, her knees either side of Eren's waist, capturing his arms against his sides. Eren attempted to buck up against her, to throw her off. Mikasa didn't even seem to acknowledge his struggling. She calmly produced a metal funnel from inside her jacket, and forced the narrow end past Eren's protesting lips.

Eren fought, trying to spit it back out, but Mikasa was strong, much stronger than he was. He watched with wide eyes as Mikasa picked up the bucket with a small grunt of effort. She tilted it slowly towards Eren, and he could see that it was filled with frothy milk. Mikasa carefully placed the rim of the bucket against the edge of the funnel, and then tilted the bucket to pour the warm liquid down into Eren's unwilling mouth. 

At first he tried to fight against the flow of liquid. But then Mikasa had balanced the base of the bucket against her shoulder with an unfair ease, her free hand moving to stroke the soft hollow of Eren's throat. Eren snarled as his body betrayed him by swallowing a large mouthful of warm, creamy milk. He kicked and struggled, but Mikasa wasn't effected in the slightest. She continued to pour the milk, continued to coax Eren's throat into swallowing against his own free will, and Eren's exhausted body eventually succumbed to her. He felt the milk flowing down his throat and into his stomach, and he could only watch helplessly as Mikasa poured more and more milk into him. 

Eren quickly felt full. The creamy milk was rich and filling, and his stomach was still recovering from having barely eaten anything over the past couple of years. Pressure built in his lower stomach, and Eren felt a jolt of shock on seeing it start to bloat out. Slowly, but surely, his once concave stomach pushed out into the softest of curves. He felt as if he were going to burst with each mouthful of milk he was being forced to swallow, he made muffled noises of protest around the funnel, but Mikasa's expression remained as impassive as ever. 

Eren couldn't fight the relief that flooded through him as the bucket was finally emptied. Mikasa set it down with a thud next to him, and pulled the funnel out of Eren's mouth. Eren gasped, wincing at the pain that shot across his slightly distended stomach. It had bloated up a good inch, pushing against the thin material of his shirt. Mikasa shuffled backwards, and Eren quickly made an attempt to sit up. He whimpered at the pain, and fell back against the floorboards with a thud. His stomach was so round and taut, and was so full of milk that he almost felt pinned down by it's weight.

“Why?” Eren gasped as Mikasa deposited the funnel into the now empty bucket, “Mikasa.. what... why...?”

“It's simple, Eren,” Mikasa reached out to press a slender finger against the slight curve of Eren's stomach, “I can't stop you trying to joining the Survey Corps. But I can make it so that they won't accept you.” Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles as her finger traced over the side of Eren's bloated belly. Eren felt a cold shudder soak his spine, and he scrambled away from that touch, ignoring the bolts of pain that shot through him.

“You're... you're insane!” Eren spat, “Mikasa, please! Stop this! You can't do this!” Each terrified breath caused his stomach to rise up and down, he could practically feel Mikasa watching it's every move. He felt sick as Mikasa effortlessly closed the distance between them. She straddled his legs, her hand lowering to rest on top of his swollen stomach. Eren was about to protest when Mikasa started to massage the taut skin, rolling the flat of her palm in slow circles against Eren's side. 

It felt amazing. Eren gasped, the pain already starting to fade underneath Mikasa's surprisingly gentle touch. A groan floated from between his lips as his head lolled backwards, his eyes sinking closed. Mikasa pushed down firmly on Eren's stomach, he felt something gurgle from deep within himself. He belched unexpectedly, a sheepish grin pulling at his lips before he remembered the situation he was in. He scowled, and folded his arms across his chest. 

“That's better,” Mikasa soothed, stroking her fingertips over the swell of Eren's stomach, “There's more room now. But don't worry. You'll be able to hold a lot more soon,” she exhaled softly, running her hands down Eren's sensitive sides, “Very soon.” Eren squirmed underneath her touch, an embarrassed blush staining his tanned cheeks. He tried to suck his stomach in out of her reach, but the stubborn rise of flesh refused to move. 

“Mikasa, you can't keep me here,” Eren tried to keep his voice level, “You can't make me f-fat just to stop me from joining the Survey Corps. You can stuff me all you want! I'll just lose the weight until they will accept me!” he met those dark eyes with blazing teal ones, “This is my dream, Mikasa. My life's purpose! You can't take that away from me!”

Mikasa was silent for a long moment. Eren watched her face for even the smallest hint of emotion. Mikasa, he realised unhappily, had the upper hand. She was stronger than him, smarter than him, and was always one step ahead. Even now she didn't seem to be worried by Eren's outburst. Eren flinched as she eventually moved away from him, back onto her knees. He struggled to sit up, pain shooting across his stomach.

“I was willing to compromise, Eren,” Mikasa rose to her feet, the bucket dangling from her hand, “I was willing to make this easier for you. But you had to be stubborn,” her fingers curled tightly about the bucket handle, her knuckles turning white, “We could have made it work. I could have catered to your every whim. But no,” anger flashed in her eyes, “I am going to do whatever it takes to protect you. No matter what.” The heels of her boots clipped across the floorboards, and she threw open the trap door with a loud bang. 

Eren scrambled onto his hands and knees to try and follow her, but she was too quick for her bloated, milk filled brother. Eren winced as the door slammed shut, a series of clicks and thuds on the other side told him that Mikasa had locked it once again. Of course, Eren sighed as he slumped back onto the stretch of floorboards he had first woken up on, Mikasa was far too calculated to make a stupid mistake like forgetting to lock the door. He rested his head down against the folded up sack, and pulled the other one over himself. 

If his protruding stomach was out of sight, it was out of mind. Eren sighed, his gaze up on the sloped ceiling. Mikasa had lost it, he decided. She had been looking more and more stressed ever since military training had started. She had been asking him time and time again to forget about joining the Survey Corps. She had been quieter lately, Eren realised with a jolt that she must have started to plan all of... this. Just how prepared was she? 

“Someone's gotta realise I'm missing,” Eren sighed, “Armin, Annie, Connie... I'll take that bastard Jean at this rate.” He felt a pang of loneliness in the pit of his bloated stomach. He had trusted Mikasa with his life, they had been near inseparable ever since she had joined his family. Her betrayal hurt. Even worse was the fact that Eren was certain Mikasa felt as if she was doing nothing wrong, that she was only doing what she thought was best. It was typical Mikasa, when it came down to it.

Eren closed his eyes. Mikasa couldn't possibly make him fat. Even someone as brilliant as his sister couldn't force a change like that on someone. 

By the time evening fell, Eren's stomach had deflated for the most part. There was still a definite softness clinging to his abs, but both the pain and the uncomfortably full sensation had left him. Eren pulled the crate from the corner of the loft to just underneath the window, and climbed on top of it. The window was far too small for him to climb through, he noted bitterly to himself, but he was hoping to see if he could recognise his surroundings. Pressing his nose against the cold glass, Eren stared out into the growing darkness. He could make out a farmyard below him, along with a few low buildings that looked as if they had once housed animals. A dusty road trailed away from the farmyard and into the distance, disappearing between fields and rolling hills. If Eren squinted, he could see cows silhouetted against the sky. 

“Mikasa really did drag me out to a farm,” Eren murmured, his breath fogging the glass, “I can't even see the walls from here. How did she get me out here?” He was aware that he had been drugged to some extent, but Mikasa must have travelled miles with him while he was unconscious. A shiver soaked his spine. Mikasa had truly gone to a lot of effort to get him somewhere secluded. Mikasa was infamous for getting her own way, no matter what lengths she had to go to. Just what did she have planned in order to get Eren too fat to enter the Survey Corps?

A thud against the trapdoor caught Eren's attention. He scrambled down from the crate as Mikasa pulled herself up into the attic, a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Eren watched curiously as she set it down to the side in order to pull her lower body up into the room. She closed the hatch behind her, dark eyes sweeping across the loft until they settled on Eren. He felt a lurch in his stomach as she lowered her gaze to look at his midsection, and instinctively wrapped his arms protectively about himself. 

“I'm not going to make this easy,” Eren warned her, squaring his shoulders up as he faced Mikasa, “You might as well just let me go. You're not going to fatten me up like... like some pig!” He flinched as Mikasa stepped closer to him, he took a step back in response. “I mean it, Mikasa,” he added quietly, forcing himself to meet that intense stare, “This isn't going to happen.” 

Mikasa's only response was to close the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Eren gasped as he found himself nose to nose with his sister, his eyes widening in surprise. He yelped on feeling a stab of pain in his upper arm, he wrenched his gaze away from Mikasa's and stared in horror at the syringe sticking through the sleeve of his shirt. He parted his lips to speak, but words failed him. He forced himself away from Mikasa, trembling as he wrapped his fingers around the empty body of the syringe. He forced the needle out of his arm, and threw it onto the floorboards with a clatter.

“What..?” Eren slurred, his lips suddenly felt as if they were made of rubber, “What did... what was...?” he fell painfully to his knees, his muscles becoming slack as the cocktail of drugs coursed through his veins, “'kasa,” he gasped through almost paralysed vocal chords, her slender form blurring and duplicating before his eyes, “'Kasa please...” Eren slouched sideways, and hit the floor with a bone rattling thud. He could only watch helplessly as Mikasa walked over the floorboards towards him. She knelt down in front of him, placing two slender fingers against the side of his throat. Eren blinked, a low gurgle leaving his throat as he tried to voice his protest. 

“I'm sorry it had to be this way,” Mikasa slipped her arms underneath Eren's armpits, dragging him across the hay scattered floorboards, “This is for your own good, Eren.” She propped Eren's prone body up against the wall, supporting him with her shoulder as she unwound the red scarf draped around her throat. His red scarf, Eren noticed; Mikasa had barely taken it off ever since he had given it to her. Mikasa looped the length of the scarf over a low hanging beam, and carefully tied the ends about Eren's wrists. He felt like a disused puppet, held up only by the red string of fate that tied him and Mikasa together. 

Eren watched helplessly as Mikasa lowered herself back through the hatch, returning with a bowl of gently steaming porridge, Mikasa knelt in front of him, and dipped a ladle down into the creamy mixture. She then raised it up to Eren's slightly parted lips. Eren gagged on the thick substance, but Mikasa's hand on his throat coaxed him into swallowing once again. Eren glared at his sister with all the intensity he could muster, unwillingly swallowing mouthful after mouthful of the heavy porridge. It settled in the pit of his stomach, filling him far more quickly than the milk had done. 

Eren felt his stomach stretch to accommodate the filling porridge. He lowered his gaze, letting out a distressed groan between mouthfuls on seeing the swell of his belly. It was bloating out more quickly than before, and it looked to Eren as if it was slightly bigger than before. He swallowed another mouthful and felt uncomfortably full. But Mikasa ignored his quiet moans and guttural pleas, and calmly loaded up another ladle dripping with porridge. Eren whined low in his throat, coughing as he swallowed around another mouthful. His poor distended stomach felt as if it were packed solid, it felt heavy. 

“'kasa,” Eren pleaded as Mikasa started to scrape the bottom of the bowl for one last ladle-full, “Can't... full.” He was breathing heavily, his rounded stomach rising and falling with each ragged breath. He had never seen his stomach balloon out quite so much before, it was pushing against the front of his shirt, causing the fabric to ripple as it struggled to hold back his bloated belly. Mikasa reached out to push down hard on the top of Eren's stomach. Eren felt that all too familiar rumble deep inside of him and he belched again, wincing at the pain that radiated across his side. 

“Room for more,” Mikasa informed him sternly as she lifted the ladle back to his porridge flecked lips, “You need this, Eren.” Eren felt tears leak out of the corners of his eyes as he was forced to swallow once more. His stomach was nothing more than a taut ball of pain, stretching out in front of him as if someone had pushed a football underneath his shirt. He tried and failed to bite back a sob as Mikasa untied his wrists and lowered him onto his back, his stomach sticking out grotesquely from his lithe form. He felt Mikasa's hands on him again, slender fingers working over the taut skin. He stubbornly ignored the small sparks of pleasure that traced down his spine, and only allowed himself a frustrated sob once Mikasa had left the attic. 

He couldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing him break so easily.


	2. Chapter 2

Days blurred into weeks. Eren was only allowed a few snatched moments of clarity between feedings, before Mikasa would drug him yet again to keep him compliant. In these moments he tried to think of how to get out of the situation he had found himself in, but more often than not, he found himself examining his changing body. Three feeds a day of fattening milk and heavy porridge was quickly making it's mark on his once slender form. 

To his horror, his stomach no longer became flat after feeding. A stubborn layer of flab coated his abs, pooching his stomach out into the start of a belly. That belly seemed to grow a little more each day, the fat swelling and surging out into a protruding pot belly. At some point, Eren wasn't quite sure when it had happened, his every day stomach was bigger than the first time Mikasa had bloated it out. His poor shirt buttons struggled to remain in their buttonholes and his waistband bit into his softer waist. 

The rest of his body was changing too. Eren's form fitting pants were tight across his fuller thighs and backside, and the waistband had rolled underneath his belly. Eren had only felt his face, but even his cheeks felt fatter, and his arms were decidedly softer and fleshier than before. His clothes were clinging to him like a second skin, Eren often thought that if he breathed out too heavily they would burst off his fleshier form. 

Then, during one feed, it happened. Eren swallowed, he felt pressure sweep across his stuffed stomach, and one of his buttons flew off his overstretched shirt. It hit Mikasa in the chest, and she watched in delight as another two followed suit. Eren's flabbier stomach surged between the gap left in his shirt, poking through the material like rising dough. Eren gritted his teeth and looked away, shame flaring in his chest. Mikasa was fattening him up as if he were nothing more than cattle, and she was succeeding. 

“You've grown so much,” Mikasa ran her hands down Eren's fleshier sides, her dark eyes sparkling, “You're doing so well, Eren. They aren't going to want you to fight like this. You'll just have to stay here. With me.” A cold shiver soaked Eren's spine, and he set his jaw. Mikasa's fingers sank into Eren's soft stomach, and she ran her fingertip over a roll of flab. “I'll take care of you,” Mikasa added sincerely, “You won't want for anything.” 

She fed Eren the remainder of his porridge, until his bloated belly surged out enough to strain the remaining buttons of his shirt. Eren focused his gaze away from her, studying the side of the crate he had once used to look out of the window. He could hear Mikasa tidying away the syringe and ladle back into the now empty bowl, there was a certain giddiness to her actions that hadn't been there before.

She thinks she's winning, Eren realised, once Mikasa had untied him and lowered herself back out of the attic. No, he corrected himself with a prod of his stomach, she was winning. Eren had gone from underweight to overweight in only a couple of months, and he dreaded to think of how much further Mikasa was planning to go. He was struggling to keep track of time because he was being drugged so often, his best estimate suggested that he had been there for almost three months, perhaps three and a half. 

Eren led down on his makeshift bed. He felt weak, his atrophied muscles unable to carry his own weight. Mikasa had made it so that he barely moved outside of cleaning himself and using the toilet, and it had left him defenceless. Really, Eren rubbed at the side of his stomach, Mikasa probably didn't need to drug him any more. He just didn't have the strength or energy to fight back, and that sparked an anger deep inside of his flabby, useless body. 

He had to escape. But even if he did somehow get past Mikasa, it wasn't as if he could outrun her, or even fight her. She had the upper hand in almost every single way. Almost. Eren's eyes widened as the spark of an idea hit him, one that threatened to die out as quickly as it had flared. Mikasa had always hoped that Eren would see things her way, and he doubted that had changed. If, if he could convince her that he had changed his mind about fighting, then he might be able to hold something over her. She might let her guard down enough for him to get out of there, to try and find help. 

There was a lot of 'mights' and 'maybes' in his plan, but it was all that Eren had. 

“Mikasa?” Eren sat up to look at his sister as she entered the attic that night, “Just... hold off a minute with the drugs, okay? I want to talk to you. I,” he swallowed nervously as he met those impassive dark eyes, “I... think you might be right. About this. About everything. The more time I spend here,” he looked around at the near empty attic, “The more I realise that maybe it's not so bad to have an easy life. To leave the fighting to someone else.” 

Silence hung heavily in the air between them. Mikasa tipped her head to the side, studying Eren intensely. Something she saw must have satisfied her, she nodded curtly and knelt in front of Eren, setting down the bowl of porridge next to her. She reached out to smooth down the puckered material of his too small shirt, and the hint of a smile graced her lips as it sprung stubbornly back into place. 

“I knew you would come around,” Mikasa's voice was soft, filled with relief, “You're stubborn. But I knew you would see things my way in the end. You always do,” she reached out to brush her fingertips along the curve of Eren's belly, “You don't have to be separated from me. We can stay here for as long as we like.” She ran her index finger down the middle of Eren's stomach, circling his exposed belly button. 

“Y-yeah,” Eren forced a weak smile, “Mikasa, can't I get a bed to sleep in? Now I'm,” he flinched inwardly at his next few words, “Bigger, it's getting kind of uncomfortable. Do I really have to stay up here? Look,” he sighed on seeing an edge of distrust entering Mikasa's expression, “Whether you believe me or not, do you really think I can go anywhere like this? All I want is a nicer room to stay in. You said you'd look after me,” he gazed at her imploringly, “All I want is a nicer room. Somewhere I can be comfortable.” 

“Mm,” Mikasa hummed as she drew back, resting her hands against her slender thighs, “Fine. There's a room downstairs that you can use. I will go and prepare it for you,” she rose elegantly to her feet, Eren noticed that some of the tension had left her small shoulders, “If we leave it any longer,” Mikasa's lips twitched into the hint of a smile, “Then you wouldn't be able to fit through the hatch.” She left the attic, leaving the bowl of steaming porridge behind. Eren studied it in surprise, Mikasa must have been eager to please him if she had allowed herself to leave it behind.

“Gotta earn myself some brownie points by doin' this,” Eren muttered to himself as he reached out to pull the bowl closer to him, “This will really make her think that I'm okay with all of... this.” He heaved the bowl up towards his lips, the sugary sweet smell of the porridge making his stomach growl. Eren flushed guiltily, his appetite had increased along with his bigger form, and it took all of his sell will to not let Mikasa know. Eren sighed, parted his lips, and began to guzzle the heavy porridge. 

Now he could manage over half a bowl before starting to fill full. Eren lowered the bowl to gasp for air, streaks of porridge smeared around his mouth. His stomach had started to bloat out a little, pushing against what remained of his shirt. Eren exhaled, rubbed a hand against his side, and continued to eat. Each mouthful was harder than the last, the thick and gloopy substance felt as if it took an age to slide down his throat. His stomach billowed out, pushing against the distressed waistband of his pants. Eren felt the material creak, and he shifted his weight to gulp down the final remnants of porridge. 

“Eren?” Mikasa gasped in delight as she pulled herself back into the attic, “You finished it all? You really meant what you said?” Eren hiccuped as he set the bowl down on the floorboards, and managed a nod. He rubbed at his bloated stomach with a sigh. He had mixed emotions about whether it was a good thing that he could eat more. On one hand, it meant that he wasn't in nearly as much pain. On the other, it meant that he was getting bigger and fatter, and that was still the opposite of what he wanted. 

“Yeah,” Eren grinned warily in Mikasa's direction, “But after all that... I could really do with a bed to lie in.” 

To Eren's dismay, and Mikasa's delight, it had been a tight fit on climbing through the hatch. The cusp of his belly had brushed against the edge of the hatch as Eren had climbed down onto the ladder below. Eren had pointedly ignored it in favour of looking around at his new surroundings. The ladder led down into a storage room of sorts, the previous owner of the farmhouse had used it to store furniture. Lines trailed through the hay scattered on top of the floorboards, it appeared as if Mikasa had been arranging the furniture recently. 

Mikasa led Eren along a small corridor. Eren puffed slightly as he walked slowly behind her, his legs trembling with each step. His cheeks flushed from exertion, and he gave a sigh of relief as Mikasa showed him his new room. Eren sank down heavily on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees. He was frustrated about how out of breath he was, but knew he couldn't let Mikasa see even a glimpse of that frustration. It meant he still fighting in his own way, instead of giving up and rolling over. Like the spoilt, fat pig that he was. Eren exhaled shakily, and rolled himself to lie down on the bed.

“I need a nap,” Eren groaned softly, “Okay, Mikasa?” He was beyond grateful when Mikasa simply nodded in response, and took her leave without another word. Eren heard the distinct snick of a key turning in the lock, and he smiled wearily to himself. Mikasa didn't trust him entirely just yet, but he was getting there. Eren forced himself to sit up, a small burp forcing it's way over his lips, and he shuffled backwards to lean against the wall. 

The double bed was a huge improvement over the sacks. The mattress was firm but comfortable, and the feather filled pillows were wonderful against his sore back. Eren took his time in looking over his new room. Two windows looked out over the countryside, they were far too small for him to climb out of, especially with his chubbier form. A door led to a wash room, with a sink, bath tub and toilet, and the only window in that room was narrow and set up high on the wall. Eren sank back down against the pillows, a hand rubbing his stomach out of habit. Another belch escaped, and he felt a little less full for it. 

“I really do need a nap,” Eren murmured to himself as he allowed his eyes to close, “I'm so out of shape... this is bad.” 

For the first time, he dreamt that night.

_“Wow, Yeager,” Jean sneered as he looked Eren up and down, his expression a mixture of disgust and delight, “You've really let yourself go. Look at how fat you've got,” he grabbed a roll of flab and shook it, making the rest of Eren's belly jiggle, “Least you'd make a nice snack for the Titans, huh? With any luck they'd have a heart attack eatin' something so saturated in fat.” Eren's lips parted soundlessly, only to choke as Jean shoved a spoonful of porridge into his mouth._

_“Go on,” Jean laughed, “Eat up, pig.” Eren watched in alarm as his stomach started to inflate outwards, like a slowly expanding balloon. He turned to try and walk away from Jean's laughter, but he felt too heavy to move. He kept growing with each desperate waddle, a round butterball teetering along on trembling legs. He tripped and fell with a bang, cracks streaking along in the ground. He struggled to get to his feet, his slowly expanding body made it impossible for him to reach past his stomach to the ground below._

_“WELL WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?” Instructor Shadis peered down at Eren from over the curve of his now enormous gut, “Now what is this fat little pig trying to do? What is this, Yeager?” he slapped the side of Eren's stomach, sending shockwaves ripping through the flab, “You gonna fight with all this flab? Maybe we should use your fat ass to plug the hole an' stop the Titans comin' in!” He kicked Eren in the side, and laughed as he sent his rotund form spinning. Eren rolled over and over, watching the faces of his fellow trainees flashing by in a blur. Smug Jean, bemused Sasha, a laughing Connie..._

_Then Armin._

_“Don't worry, Eren,” Armin whispered as he knelt down in front of Eren, vivid blue eyes gazing into his, “I'll save you.”_


	3. Chapter 3

His situation was marginally better from having an actual bed to sleep in. The adjoining wash room was also a much needed relief, Eren had never been so grateful to take a bath in his entire life. It was more disheartening to clamber back into his now far too small clothes, to his embarrassment he couldn't even wedge his pants up over his fuller thighs. He grimaced and he tugged, but the waistband refused to budge so much as an inch further. Eren scowled as he pulled them down again, kicking the ruined material away into the corner of the wash room.

Eren looked down at himself, at the pot belly pushing against the front of his shirt. Gaps now appeared between the struggling buttons that remained, Eren's tanned flab visible underneath. The tightness of his shirt forced his upper stomach into rolls, but the lower half of his belly was a protruding dome of fat, the bottom of which peeked out from underneath the tails of Eren's shirt. He tugged down on the material to try and cover it up, but his shirt sprang up stubbornly back into place. 

He felt vulnerable in just the tattered remains of his shirt and underwear, and for a moment he wondered if Mikasa had orchestrated it that way. Eren stormed back into his bedroom, trying to ignore the downright strange sensation of his fat jiggling with each step. He sat down on the edge of his bed, gathering one of the thinner blankets about his shoulders, like a cape. Like the cape he should have been wearing had he joined the Survey Corps. Eren's mood darkened further. Mikasa had no right to snatch his future away from him. 

His dream was still lingering at the forefront of his mind. Eren leant forwards to rest his elbows own against his knees, his stomach folding into two soft rolls of flab. Did any of his squad care that he was missing? Did they think he had deserted them? Were they more concerned about Mikasa? And Armin, he felt a pang inside his stomach at the thought of his blond haired friend. Armn knew Eren better than anyone. Armin was the one person who should know that Eren had been taken against his own will. Armin was smarter than him and Mikasa put together, if anyone could find Eren, it was him. 

Not that he wanted Armin to see him like this. Eren sighed and flopped onto his back. He could hear Mikasa's footsteps coming down the corridor, her neat, clipped footsteps. He still didn't have a way to tell the time outside of watching the sun rise and set, but he knew Mikasa well enough to know that she was feeding him on a schedule. Three times a day, breakfast lunch and dinner. Eren sat up on hearing the key turn in the lock. Mikasa stepped into the room, a bowl of porridge tucked under one arm. Just the sight of the thick mixture made Eren feel sick to his stomach, he would have killed for a slice of meat or piece of cheese. 

“Do you ever think about Armin?” Eren studied Mikasa's face as she set the bowl down on the bedside table, “Why didn't you bring him with us? You wanted to protect him too, right?” 

“It was regretful that I had to leave Armin behind,” Mikasa murmured after a moment of thought, lowering herself elegantly to sit on the edge of Eren's bed, “It would have been difficult to relocate both of you without being noticed. Armin doesn't have your habit of running into danger.” She plucked the fraying edges of the bedspread with her fingers, a mild frown pulling at her brow. “He'll be safe.” 

“Mikasa,” Eren sighed, looking over at his adopted sister's profile, “This is all nuts. You know that, right? You really think that you're going to keep me here forever, feeding me until I can't move?” Mikasa was silent, pinching a loose thread between her thumb and forefinger. “What if Titans attack?” Eren pressed stubbornly onwards, “How can you protect me then? Wall Maria fell, we both know it's only a matter of time until they find their way through Wall Rose! How can you protect me and get away from Titans?! You've just created a,” he remembered his dream with a sudden clarity, “A fatty snack for them.” 

“Mm,” Mikasa withdrew her hands into her lap, “You make a good point, Eren. I may have to adjust my plans. But,” she turned to face him, a glint sparking in the depths of her almond shaped eyes, “I will continue to protect you. Even if you don't want me to. Right now, this is all I can do for you. Now,” her tone softened, and she leant over to retrieve the bowl of porridge from the bedside table, “Open wide. Unless you would prefer to be returned to the attic?” 

Eren sighed, and parted his lips obediently, to welcome the spoonful of porridge heading his way. As the sugary substance oozed onto his tongue and down his throat, Eren forced himself to keep thinking. Mikasa was still skittish, she clearly didn't trust him; unfortunately, like Armin, she knew Eren a little too well. Eren swallowed with some difficulty, Mikasa nudged a fresh spoonful against his lips until he opened them once again for her. It didn't take long for his soft stomach to became taut and round, sinking down onto his upper thighs with the weight of the porridge. Eren squirmed at the sensation, and almost choked on the next spoonful that Mikasa forced past his lips. 

Eren's stomach swelled against the remaining buttons of his shirt. His shirt was pulled so tightly across the slowly rising flab that it had almost gone transparent. He held up a hand to stop Mikasa in her tracks, struggling to breathe between mouthfuls. He exhaled shakily, and winced as the remaining buttons pinged off his shirt. Without the shirt to hold it back, Eren's stomach oozed out into his lap. He watched in horror at just how big he was, had he been female he could have been mistaken for being pregnant. He pulled the edges of the blanket tighter about himself, shaking his head defiantly as Mikasa offered out another spoonful to him.

“N-no more,” Eren pleaded, “Not now. Look at me, Mikasa. I'm bursting out of my damn clothes.”

To his relief, Mikasa relented, and let the spoon drop with a 'splodge' into the almost empty bowl. Eren jumped in surprise on feeling a slender arm slide across his shoulders, followed by Mikasa leaning against his soft side. He could feel the sharp jut of her hip cutting into the side of his stomach, a closer look revealed that Mikasa appeared to be going in the opposite direction of Eren. Her cheekbones were a little more prominent than they had once been, shadows were smeared underneath her eyes, and her uniform was a little loose on her frail looking frame. 

Despite everything, Eren felt a pang of sympathy for her. 

“Mikasa,” Eren began carefully, feeling Mikasa nuzzle against his softer shoulder, “You don't look so good. You're not forgetting to take care of yourself in favour of me, are you?” It made sense, Eren realised as Mikasa nodded slightly. Even if he disagreed with what she was doing, she was putting her all into it. She was making sure that Eren was fed around the clock, but he knew that Mikasa would have skipped a meal or two herself. As for how she was earning money to keep him in milk and porridge was beyond him, but it was clear that Mikasa was starting to show the strain that she was under. 

“Don't worry about me, Eren,” Mikasa shook her head, “I'll be fine. I'm happy as long as you're happy. I know you're safe. I know that I can keep you safe.” Her dark eyes closed for a moment, her body relaxing against Eren's rounded stomach. “Don't worry about how you look,” Mikasa's eyes opened to shimmering slits, “You look wonderful, Eren. You always have.” She leant further into his side with a quiet sigh, one of her hand splaying across the front of his belly. Her breathing became soft, even, the only sound in the silence of the room. 

Eren stared past Mikasa's sleeping form, to the bedroom door that she had left wide open. He could see the corridor stretching out beyond it, light streaming in through a large window at the end. He desperately drank in every detail that he could about the hallway while he had the chance. There was a small bookcase and chair pushed against the wall between his bedroom and the next room along, and Eren's heart leapt into his throat on recognising the box screwed to the wall a little further along.

A telephone. The farmhouse had a telephone. 

Eren's mouth went dry. He could call the barracks for help, if he got the right person then they could find someone to trace the call. Right? He looked down at the dark head of hair nestled against his shoulder. It sounded like Mikasa had fallen asleep, her breathing was even and her body was slack. But, Eren looked back up desperately at the open doorway, Mikasa never made mistakes. Mikasa never left herself vulnerable if she could help it. What if it was another test? What if she was waiting for Eren to make a break for freedom? Even if she was genuinely asleep, what if he woke her by clambering to his feet?

Eren heaved a sigh of frustration over his lower lip. It just wasn't worth the risk. At least he now knew that the farmhouse had a telephone. 

It wasn't until early evening that Mikasa stirred. She peeled her cheek away from Eren's shoulder, blinking at him in the fading light. Her dark eyes widened in surprise, and she jumped to her feet. Her gaze flickered between Eren and the open door, her breathing leaving her in fast, little puffs. Eren made a show of reaching behind himself to rub at the small of his back, it was aching slightly from having been sat up for so long, which in turn made his rounded stomach stick out even further. 

“Sleep well?” Eren enquired innocently, silently enjoying Mikasa's confusion a little more than he should have, “You should take better care of yourself, Mikasa. I don't want you to end up sick because you're looking after me.” Mikasa's frantic gaze finally settled on Eren, and she allowed her shoulders to slump, if just a fraction. 

“Sorry. I shouldn't have-” Mikasa began uncertainly, her brow furrowed, “Eren. Thank you. But there's no need to be concerned.” She leant over to retrieve the mostly empty porridge bowl from Eren's bedside table, tucking it underneath her arm. She approached the door, hesitated, and turned to look over her shoulder at Eren. “I'll try and find you something to wear. I believe the previous owners may have left something behind.” With that she was gone, shutting the door firmly behind her. 

Eren waited to hear the click of the lock. He grinned to himself on hearing nothing but the steady sound of Mikasa's retreating footsteps, and he allowed himself to stretch out over the bed. 

“Little by little,” Eren murmured to himself as he looked up at the ceiling, “This how you'd do it, Armin?” 

No, Eren decided with some bemusement, Armin would have gotten himself out of there by that point. He wouldn't have led back and allowed Mikasa to fatten him up. He would have talked her around somehow, and they'd both be back at the barracks within the week. Eren rubbed a hand over the bulge of his stomach, a habit he had gotten into as of late. His fingers kneaded against the soft flesh, his mind still not able to quite comprehend that it belonged to him. That the stomach jutting out in front of him was his. 

Mikasa was right. The military weren't going to accept a soldier who couldn't fit into the 3D Maneuver Gear.


	4. Chapter 4

Mikasa had unearthed some old clothes belonging to the farmer who had once lived there. She had insisted on washing them before allowing Eren to wear them, and he had impatiently agreed to wait a little while longer for clothes that would actually fit. In the meanwhile, Eren forced himself to exercise between feeds. He wasn't expecting to lose any weight, he was just hoping to gain back some much needed strength. His extra weight was a burden on his weakened muscles, at his worst Eren could barely walk more than four or five steps before needing to grab onto the nearest object for support. 

“Fuck,” Eren hissed as he jogged on the spot, his extra rolls and folds of fat jiggling with each step, “This is... really... fucking hard.” His face was burning, and droplets of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He was panting already, and he had only been 'exercising' for less than five minutes. At his fittest Eren could have ran for hours, now he was reduced to a fat and sweating blob who could barely last a few minutes without gasping for breath. 

“Damnit,” Eren stopped and leant over to catch his breath, his hands grasping against his knees, “How could I have let myself get this bad?” He ran the back of his hand over his brow, wiping beads of perspiration from his flushed skin. His legs trembled as he sat down on the edge of his bed, ignoring the gentle creak of the mattress as it settled underneath his weight. His unrestricted belly flowed out over his softer upper thighs, a smaller roll of flab starting to form along the very top. A low grumble sounded from deep inside his gut, and Eren sighed in response. 

“Traitor,” he scolded his stomach, “You're not helping matters. You can't possibly be hungry.” Eren massaged the side of his complaining gut, a sigh hissing between his gritted teeth. He had to reluctantly admit that he was craving food. Real food. Not milk or porridge, but something solid. Slices of meat, or pieces of cheese. Stew would be amazing, especially if it was just as thick as his mother had made it, and stuffed to the brim with tender meat and melt-in-the-mouth potatoes. Eren groaned, he would have welcomed military rations by that point. 

“Thinking about food isn't going to help,” Eren muttered angrily under his breath, “Food isn't what I need right now.” His stomach gurgled, as if in protest. Eren gripped at the roll of flab that was hanging over the waistband of his underwear, his fingers sinking into the soft flab. “So stop it.” He felt further up the swell of his belly, poking and prodding at his supple fat. His chest felt softer, and he could feel the hint of a double chin creeping along his jawline. Eren raised both hands to his face, even his still heated cheeks were rounded out. 

Eren flinched on hearing the door open behind him, and let his hands fall down into his lap. He heard Mikasa's boots on the wooden floorboards, along with the clink of a bowl being set down. He blinked on feeling something being dropped onto the next next to him, on tilting his head he was delighted to see a pile of neatly folded clothes. He fumbled through the pile, upsetting Mikasa's neat folding in the process, before pulling out a dark green shirt. Eren shook it out with a grin, it looked huge between his hands. 

“Thanks, Mikasa!” Eren pulled the remains of his old shirt away from his fleshier upper arms, and scrambled into the blissfully larger shirt, “Wow. This is huge.” The shirt fell from his shoulders like a tunic, the tails reaching part way down his thighs. Eren buttoned the shirt up, the front barely skimming the curve of his stomach. The farmer who had worn these clothes, Eren thought to himself as he adjusted the shirt with a sharp pull of the soft, worn fabric, had to have been a huge man. He reached for a pair of pants next, but pulled a face on unfolding them. 

“These are gonna be way too big,” Eren held the trousers aloft, wrinkling the bridge of his nose, “You could fit two of me in there.” He tossed them untidily to the side as he continued to paw through the pile of clothes. Mikasa simply picked up the discarded trousers to smooth the creases out of them, folding them up neatly once again. Eren located a pair of pyjama pants that looked dark enough to pass as regular pants, and stepped into them. They were still loose on him, the leg material flapped around his thighs, but the elasticated waist made them fit a little better than the trousers would have done. 

“You should eat,” Mikasa reminded Eren, folding up the clothes he had scattered across the bedspread in his haste to find something that might fit, “The weather is starting to get cold. You need to keep yourself healthy.” She leant over to retrieve the bowl of porridge, Eren's heart sank on seeing the goopy substance inside. Mikasa dipped her spoon into the mixture, and held it out to Eren with the expectant air of a mother feeding their child. 

“Can't I get some real food?” Eren complained, sitting back on the edge of the bed, “I'm getting sick of porridge. Isn't there anything else I can have?” Mikasa's pretty face puckered into a displeased frown, and she shoved the spoonful of porridge into Eren's mouth. Eren swallowed, his eyes widening in surprise. “M-Mikasa?” 

“You should be grateful for what you have, Eren,” Mikasa shoved her shoulder into Eren's, knocking him flat onto his back, “This is good for you. It's just like your mother used to make.” Her eyes flashed as she straddled Eren's hips, her thighs sinking against his flabby sides. She balanced the bowl in the crook of her arm, and forced another spoonful into Eren's mouth. Eren gagged and bucked his hips upwards, trying to unbalance Mikasa. She tightened her iron like grip, her knees digging into rolls of flesh. 

“Mikasa, you're hurting me,” Eren winced as the spoon was forced past his sore lips, swallowing to stop himself from choking, “I'm sorry, okay? Stop being so mad!” His lips were tingling as Mikasa rammed the spoon between them, the stodgy porridge felt as if it were crawling down his throat. Eren's stomach began to bloat outwards, mostly hidden underneath the fall of his larger shirt. Eren gasped for air between spoonfuls, whimpering with each thrust of that spoon past his bruised lips. 

“I'm helping you,” Mikasa hesitated for a moment, the spoon frozen against Eren's lower lip, “I am,” she continued, more to herself, “I'm helping you. Not hurting you.” She lowered the spoon to rest on Eren's chest, the gooey porridge sticking against his exposed skin. Her gaze softened, and for just a moment, Eren was reminded of Mikasa when he had first met her, as a frightened little girl. She lowered her trembling hands to the rise of Eren's stomach. She spread her fingers out over the rounded bloat, her dark eyes creasing underneath the fall of her hair. 

“There's still room,” Mikasa murmured as she pushed down on Eren's stomach, “I can feel it. You need to eat more.” She picked the spoon up again, guiding it gently to Eren's slightly swollen lips. She nudged the bowl of the spoon against his lower lip until she was granted a reluctant entrance. Eren curled his hands into fists as he swallowed, his entire body trembling as he forced himself to remain calm and collected. Mikasa's temperament was fluctuating, and cracks were starting to appear in her stoic exterior. He had to tread carefully, even if all he wanted to do was scream and shout until Mikasa let him go. 

“I wasn't saying that what you give me is bad,” Eren felt his voice shake despite his best attempts to hide his underlying anger, “You're right. It is just like mom,” a spike of guilt flashed through him, “Just like.. mom used to make. But Mikasa, I'm growing. I get hungrier. Sometimes I want food, solid food. Even if it's just bread or cheese or something.” He obediently swallowed the next spoonful Mikasa fed him. Mikasa hesitated as she scooped up a fresh spoonful of porridge from the rapidly emptying bowl. 

“It's not easy, Eren,” she admitted quietly, “But that's going to change. You gave me the idea when you expressed your worries about Titans. About how I wouldn't be able to protect you if they broke through. You're right,” she looked downwards, her lips pulling into a worried frown, “I wouldn't be able to. The only solution is for us to move behind Wall Sina,” Eren felt his blood run cold, “We'll be protected there. You can have all the food that you could ever want. Why,” Mikasa ran her hand over Eren's stomach, “You'll be able to find clothes that fit you there.” 

“Behind the Wall?” Eren stammered, “Mikasa, there's no way you'll be able to pull that off. How will we survive behind there?” If Mikasa managed to get him behind Wall Sina, that was it. Eren might have well disappeared into thin air as far as Armin and his military friends were concerned. Behind that Wall, Mikasa could make it so that they were never seen in public again. Despite her erratic moods, Mikasa's mind was sharp, clever. She probably already had an idea to make it so she and Eren could live amongst the fat and wealthy, all the while making Eren fatter and more helpless. 

“Leave it to me,” Mikasa nodded determinedly as she fed a dumbstruck Eren the last spoonful of porridge, “I have everything planned. I promised to protect you... I stand by that.” She climbed off Eren elegantly, Eren noticed that there was an energy about her that hadn't been present before. Mikasa was almost smiling as she took the bowl and spoon in her hands, a far cry from the terrified little girl that had been staring at Eren just moments before. She brushed a kiss against Eren's chubby cheek before she left, once again leaving the door unlocked. 

Eren shivered as he forced himself to sit up, leaning back against the wall. Terror gripped at his chest. He was pinning his hopes on Armin somehow finding him, but even his brilliant friend could only go so far on so few clues. If Mikasa left any clues, that was. Eren ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard against the palm of his hand. Things were rapidly going from bad to worse, Mikasa was growing more emotionally unstable with each passing day, and all the while Eren was becoming fatter and fatter. He groaned softly, the start of a headache pulsating across his forehead. 

Eren slept in fitful bursts that night. He couldn't quite settle, the bed creaking underneath him as he tossed and turned. He couldn't stop thinking about being shuttled away behind Wall Sina, as far away from the Titans as he could possibly get. He sighed against his arm, sending goosebumps over the tanned skin. Mikasa was right, Eren thought begrudgingly, it was starting to get colder. He pulled the covers up further over himself, forcing his eyes to close. He needed to sleep, he needed to try and keep both his mind and body strong. 

His eyes flew open on hearing the door to his room slowly creak open, a shaft of light streaming in from the hallway. It was closed again with the softest of thuds. Eren kept his back to the doorway, forcing himself to feign sleep. Footsteps drew closer across the floorboards, slow and steady. Eren held a hand to his stomach, if Mikasa was intent on slotting a midnight feed in with everything else, he was certain that his stomach was going to burst from being too full. Eren felt his breath catch in his throat as the footsteps stopped suddenly, a quiet gasp leaving his visitor's lips. 

“Eren?” Armin's voice was soft in the heavy silence of the room, “Eren is.. is that you?”


	5. Chapter 5

For a long moment, Eren and Amin just stared at one another. Eren lowered his eyes on feeling Armin's penetrating gaze, a shameful flush staining his chubby cheeks. He had to be at least twice the size he used to be, back when Armin had last seen him. Eren clutched at the edge of his blankets, inching them further up his body, as if he could try and hide the worst of it from Armin. But the material clung stubbornly to the large curve of Eren's stomach, emphasising Eren's larger body instead. Eren swallowed hard; part of him wanted nothing more than to eagerly drink in the sight of his best friend, the other part couldn't bear to look him in the face. 

“Eren,” Armin murmured, breaking the heavy silence, “I'm... just so glad you're okay. I was so worried. One moment you were there and the next,” Armin exhaled shakily, “The next... you weren't. You and Mikasa were just gone.” There was a rush of fabric, and Eren stiffened in surprise as he felt Armin's arms wrap around him. The blond felt so fragile against Eren's flabbier form; had Armin always felt so delicate? 

“Armin,” Eren cleared his throat, and awkwardly moved his hand to rest against the blond's back, against the soft, heavy cloak that fell from his shoulders. Eren's eyes widened as he finally looked up at his friend, at the 'Wings of Freedom' patch stitched neatly on the breast of his jacket. “You joined the Survey Corps?” Eren touched the insignia with trembling fingertips, tracing the outline of the wings. The wings he should have been wearing. 

“I did,” Armin nodded, pulling back from the embrace so that he could meet Eren eye-to-eye, “I had to. To start with I was following you but when you went missing... I was going to leave. To try and find you. But then I thought about it,” Armin furrowed his brow, “I really thought about it. How could I help you like that? I had to keep training, to keep learning. I used every spare moment I had to try and find you and Mikasa. It's how I was even able to find you.”

“How?” Eren asked, hand now curled against Armin's narrow shoulder, just so he could reassure himself that the blond was actually there, “I know you're good, but Mikasa is-” he cut himself off, “Armin you know what happened. Right? Why we're here?” Surprise jolted down his spine as Armin simply in response. “What? How?” 

“I've been watching you for around a week,” Armin admitted, “Eren, Mikasa stands out. I knew it would be easier to look for her, and I was right. A local merchant mentioned that someone matching her description had taken over an abandoned farm. That she came in and purchased large amounts of oats and fresh milk on a weekly basis.” Armin's gaze dipped briefly to look at bulge of Eren's stomach, concern slipping into his wide, blue eyes. “I had no idea what she was doing until I saw you. She's been..-”

“-fattening me up,” Eren finished sullenly, “Armin. You don't have to tiptoe around it. I'm huge. She's been shoving milk and porridge down my throat ever since we got here. She wants to make me too fat to join the Survey Corps. So I can't fight.”

“So you can't be put in any danger,” Armin finished softly, “Of course. I knew Mikasa couldn't have taken you away in order to hurt you. I mean,” he corrected himself quickly on finding himself on the receiving end of Eren's glare, “I don't think she sees this as hurting you. Mikasa would never hurt you if she could help it.” He reached out shyly to rest his hand against Eren's upper arm, the corner of his lips downturned into a small frown. “Are you okay?”

Something about those words in Armin's gentle voice caused a lump to rise in Eren's throat. He nodded, forcing himself to struggle past the sudden onslaught of hot tears that prickled against the backs of his eyes. He was both humiliated and grateful that Armin was there. He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes, and forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath. 

“We need to get you out of here,” Armin's gaze flickered to the bedroom door, “Mikasa isn't stupid. She'll know someone has been here. That could only make things worse for you. She might panic and move you somewhere else-”

“That's right!” Eren interrupted, “Mikasa said something about moving me behind Wall Sina. Said that I'd be better protected behind there. That I'd,” the words stuck in his throat, “That I'd... fit in there better.” He touched the side of his stomach self consciously, and flinched in surprise as Armin's smaller hand folded over his own. He looked up, his heart skipping a beat on seeing Armin's warm, if slightly scared, smile. 

“Eren,” Armin squeezed Eren's hand, “It's going to be okay. I'm not going to let you be taken anywhere. I promise.” 

Leaving the farmhouse had been the surprisingly easy part. Armin had walked a step or two ahead of Eren down the gently winding staircase, Eren had gripped onto the banister tightly the entire way down; his legs still felt shaky underneath his new weight. He followed Armin with baited breath until they were outside, underneath the cold night sky. Eren inhaled deeply, even the scent of the distant farm animals was better than the musty smell of the attic, or the sickly aroma of yet another bowl of stodgy porridge. 

“We need to get moving,” Armin curled his fingers about Eren's wrist, Eren noticed that those fingers didn't come close to meeting, “We're not going to be able to outrun Mikasa. But if we can make it to that forest, over there,” Armin pointed to a patch of green, just visible on the distant horizon, “We'll be able to hide. Mikasa's brilliant, but we'll have time on our side.” 

“All the way over there?” Eren's stomach twisted into knots as he followed Armin's finger, “Armin I'm not... exactly as fit as I used to be. That's a long way. I'll just end up slowing you down.” 

“I know you can do it,” Armin insisted, starting to walk across the deserted farmyard, his hand not leaving Eren's lower arm, “It's not as far as it looks. But the longer we stay here, the more likely it is that Mikasa is going to catch up to us. Honestly?” Armin risked a quick glance over his shoulder, “I'm surprised that Mikasa hasn't heard us. I don't know if I'd consider that a good thing or not at this stage.”

“Mikasa's been pretty tired lately,” Eren reassured the blond as they left the farmyard, walking down the long and winding road that ran through the rolling fields and hills, “She's probably out of it. Still asleep. She,” Eren rubbed at the back of his neck, “She's going to be pissed. She hasn't really been herself lately, you know? She's been having these... moments. Her mood is all over the place. Happy one moment, pissed off the next.” 

“She's probably had a mental breakdown of some description,” Armin sighed, “She's never been happy about you wanting to fight Titans. Since it looked more and more likely that you were going to she... just sort of snapped. She would have known that she'd need to act quickly to stop you from heading into danger. I can imagine that she's conflicted about what she's doing, too.” 

“Making me too fat to be any good to anyone?” Eren ground out between his teeth, to his annoyance he was already a little short of breath, “I'm disgusting. Useless. I can't even see my damn feet. How am I supposed to fight Titans like this?” He followed Armin as the blond led them through a gate and into one of the many fields, the soil barren and moist from a recent rainfall. Eren sank into the soft mud, and struggled to keep up with the more agile Armin. 

A light drizzle had started to fall by the time they reached the edge of the forest. A grey light coated the landscape, the watery sun struggled to break through the heavy grey clouds. Eren shivered as they slipped between the trees. He was panting slightly, he could feel that his cheeks were flushed red, and his legs felt as if they were going to give way at any moment. But he had made it, and several glances over their shoulders had confirmed that Mikasa had yet to follow them. Eren sighed shakily, and reached up to wipe the beads of sweat from his brow. 

“It's good that it's starting to rain,” Armin noted as he fell into an easy walk beside Eren, “It'll wash away any tracks that we left behind. We need all the help that we get when it comes to evading Mikasa of all people.” He pulled down the hood of his cloak once they were under the shelter of the trees, and shook his head; blond strands of hair flying about his face. Eren found himself staring, and quickly looked away as those bright blue eyes were turned in his direction. 

“I need to sit down for a bit,” Eren sighed as he ran his hand down his flushed face, “Feel like I'm going to throw up.” 

“You just need to build up your strength again,” Armin squeezed Eren's hand reassuringly, “We can rest for a bit. There's a thicket over there, that should keep us pretty well hidden.” He pulled Eren towards the small nest of brambles and trees, where the branches had twisted to form a hollow. It looked big at a glance, but to Eren's shame, he took up almost all of the room once he had clambered breathlessly inside. 

“Shit,” Eren grumbled as he tried to get himself comfortable on the hard ground, his back pushed up against a tree trunk, “Sorry, Armin, I don't leave you a lot of room.” 

“There's plenty of room,” Armin squeezed himself in next to Eren, sinking slightly against the soft side of his stomach, “Don't be so hard on yourself.” He tilted his head down to lean it against Eren's soft shoulder, his hair tickling against Eren's neck. Eren hitched his breath as Armin settled against him. He awkwardly moved an arm behind Armin's back, and was rewarded with another one of those warm smiles. 

Despite everything that had happened, and despite the weight of his overfed body, Eren felt lighter than air, the lightest he had felt in months.


	6. Chapter 6

Their journey through the forest was hell on the formerly fit Eren. It felt as if he was becoming breathless after barely an hour of gentle walking, his chubby cheeks would flush at the slightest exertion, and Armin of all people was striding ahead of him. Armin, who had always been the one trailing behind him and Mikasa when they were little. Eren watched as the blond stepped lightly over tree roots and uneven chunks of earth, the ends of his cape trailing neatly behind him. The wings of freedom glimmered at Eren with each patch of sunlight that Armin stepped through, reminding him that he was far from being able to follow his dream. 

“Shit,” Eren stopped, his hand held up against the trunk of a tree for support, “Armin... I gotta take another break.” His entire body was aching, his wasted muscles were struggling to carry his enormous weight. Eren sank slowly to sit onto the leafy ground, his belly spreading out over his thighs. “I'm sorry,” Eren muttered through his pride, he was still panting softly even while sat down, “This body is useless. We'd be out of this damn forest now if it wasn't for me!”

“Stop that,” Armin chided Eren gently as he turned back towards him, “This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault. You're doing great,” he flashed Eren a warm smile, “I'm going to head up to take a look at where we are. With any luck we'll be out of the woods before sunset.” His hands moved to the gear box that hung at his waist, twin wires shot out, up into the leafy canopy over their heads. Armin pulled gently on the wires to ensure they were embedded correctly, before jumping up to follow their path.

Eren watched as Armin disappeared into the branches above, a few leaves drifting down. He sighed, and tilted his head back against the tree he was leaning against. Along with being exhausted, he was starving. His body had become accustomed to several bowls of fattening porridge a day, and now Eren had gone for over a day without food. He rubbed a hand over his stomach with a sigh, not eating and moving so much was hopefully going to help him lose a little weight. Not that it was going to be easy to lose the weight he had gained. Eren could barely remembered how he had looked before Mikasa had started fattening him up.

“It shouldn't be too much longer,” Armin called down from the ceiling of entwining branches and dark green leaves, “I can see a village in the distance. We might be able to stay there. If we're lucky,” he dropped out of the trees with a whip of the wires, the metal hissed as they coiled back into the box resting against his thighs, “We might be able to get a ride. The sooner we get back to headquarters, the better.” He extended a hand down to Eren without thinking, before hesitating. “Oh..”

“Don't sweat it,” Eren reassured Armin as he struggled back onto his feet, batting aside that proffered hand, “I bet you couldn't pull me up at my normal weight.” He hitched his breath as he stood up, and rested his hands against his hips. “A ride sounds pretty good right now. Though I'd feel bad for the horse that has to pull me along.” He exhaled before forcing himself to straighten up, a new resolve welling up inside of him. He even managed a smile at Armin, who promptly returned it with a warm one of his own. 

“We'll go a little slower this time,” Armin reached out to take Eren's chubby hand within his own, his thin fingers slotting easily between Eren's, “Sorry. I'm so used to being the one trailing behind you. I'm not thinking.” Eren shivered as he felt Armi's cool fingers brush against his clammy skin. Armin looked even more delicate next to him. Eren ran his gaze over Armin's profile as they walked together, hand in hand, comparing that concave stomach against his bulging own. Eren inhaled experimentally, his protruding gut barely budged an inch in response.

“I thought you'd be more disgusted,” Eren admitted after a moment, looking purposefully away from Armin's intense blue gaze, “By this. By how I look now. I mean,” he clambered awkwardly over a tree root, “I look kind of gross. Really gross. I've got rolls and flab and ugh,” Eren sighed, bowing his head, “I don't know, Armin. You didn't so much as a flinch when you first looked at me like this. I know you're pretty composed, but that composed...?” 

“You still look cute,” Armin responded, apparently without thinking given the way his eyes widened, “I mean,” the blond cleared his throat nervously, “Eren. You've always been good looking. You're still good looking now, even with a few extra pounds.” Armin squeezed Eren's hand, a light blush settling across the blond's face. “So don't worry so much about how you look. I mean it's weird but you look,” Armin ran the pad of his thumb over Eren's hand, “... cute.” 

“Cute? Damnit, Armin,” Eren rubbed over his cheeks, grateful that his cheeks were already flushed, “Only you could think that when I look like this!” He couldn't deny that he wasn't flattered by Armin's comments, but it was all so embarrassing. Especially when he found it hard to believe what Armin was saying. “C'mon. I want to keep going before I have to rest again.” Eren forced himself to pick up the pace, trying to match Armin's faster, lighter steps. He swore that Armin had slowed down in response, but the blond only denied it when asked. 

Twilight had fallen by the time they reached the edge of the forest. Eren grinned on seeing the beautiful purple streaked sky stretched out in front of them, the stars just starting to appear. The moon was low on the horizon, surrounded by a pale halo of light. Eren could see a village on the plains in front of them, maybe a mile away at the most. His stomach growled on seeing the cosy lights, and despite everything, he was looking forward to eating some real food. Some much needed real food, despite his size. Eren rubbed at the side of his grumbling belly, and began to follow Armin through the last few dregs of forest. 

He flinched on feeling a sharp pain pierce into the back of his neck. He tried to reach around to rub at the sore area, though he couldn't quite reach with his chubbier arms. A familiar wave of dizziness washed over him, his skin prickling as his muscles grew slack and unresponsive. He felt his knees give way from underneath him, his hand slipping from Armin's. He could hear the blond calling for him, talking to him, but he sounded so far away.

“Run,” Eren mouthed desperately as he hit the forest floor, “It's Mikasa. Armin, you've got to run!” He could only watch helplessly as Armin knelt down in front of him, concern radiating from his big blue eyes. Eren could hear Mikasa's measured footsteps behind him, leaves crunching under the thick soles of her boots. Armin leant over Eren's fallen body to grasp at the back of his neck, Eren winced as he felt something being pulled out. His vision blurred slightly as the drug coursed through his system, his breathing slowing. Armin pulled helplessly on Eren's arm before standing, looking over the rise of Eren's stomach to confront Mikasa. 

Eren's eyes closed. He could hear Armin's soft voice contrasting against Mikasa's calm, clipped tones. He could hear more leaves being crunched underfoot. He felt Armin's small hand curl back around his, and he felt Mikasa's slender fingers pressing gently against the side of his neck, searching for a pulse. Darkness invaded the edges of Eren's vision as a drugged sleep rose to claim him once more.


	7. Chapter 7

Eren was woken by a gentle rocking sensation. He opened his eyes, and found himself gazing at a wall of wood and canvas. Eren rolled onto his back, grimacing as his sore muscles protested against the sudden movement. The canvas continued up over his head, and down to the other side of him, forming a tent like barrier over him. He could hear the steady beat of hooves, and his drug addled mind suddenly cleared as the wooden floor underneath him jolted once again. He was on the back of a cart. 

Eren sat up, his breath catching in his throat as he looked around at his meagre surroundings. A couple of sacks were stacked at one side, next to a wooden bucket. A blanket was crumpled at his feet, as if he had kicked it off while sleeping, and his shoes were stacked neatly in the far corner. Eren moved onto his knees, crawling unsteadily towards the back of the cart. He tried to paw aside the canvas flaps, only to find a length of rope tying them together. He could only peek out through the gap, revealing a long stretch of cobblestone road. The houses either side of the road were silent in the falling dusk, lights flickering on in some of the windows. 

Hope and dread curdled in the pit of his stomach. Whoever was driving the cart had made it so that he couldn't easily escape. That meant it was most likely Mikasa. But if they were finally heading through somewhere that was populated? He might get the chance to call for help. Eren sank back down onto his backside, the reluctant upside to gaining weight had meant he was a great deal more comfortable on his plusher behind, and stared out through the gap he had created in the canvas. 

If Mikasa was outside, then what had happened to Armin? Eren could only remember the last part of their journey through the forest in drifts and drabs. Armin had been holding his hand, the last that Eren could remember. Had Mikasa hurt him? Eren shook his head. Mikasa might have been unstable, but he couldn't see her hurting Armin. He hoped. Eren bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. Armin had to be okay. Wherever he was. Eren couldn't bear to think otherwise. 

“State your business?” Eren jumped at the sound of the authoritative voice from the other side of the canvas. It had a slight accent to it that he couldn't quite pin down, an accent that he wasn't used to hearing. 

“Escort, sir,” Mikasa's calm voice responded from the front of the carriage, and Eren's heart sank, “I have been asked to-”

“HELP!” Eren yelled, banging his fists against the side of the cart, the canvas rippling from each pound of his fist, “Help me!” He grinned on hearing the sound of hurried footsteps heading towards the back of the cart, and caught a glimpse of a member of the military police through the gap in the canvas. The man studied him with a great deal of confusion, before looking down at the bunch of papers in his hand. 

“What are you waiting for?!” Eren demanded, “She's kidnapping me! She's holding me hostage! I'm not supposed to be here!” He let out a snarl of frustration as the man continued reading through the documents in his hands, now and again looking from the text to Eren, and back again. “HEY! What aren't you getting?! She's dangerous! She just,” Eren gestured helplessly with his hands, “She's holding me against my own free will, and you're going to sit back and let this happen?! Isn't that a crime?!”

“Take a look at this one,” the soldier stepped to the side, allowing another member of the military police to join him in gawping at Eren, “Son of a noble that managed to get past the wall. Apparently thinks that he was going to make it in the military.” He made a point of raking his eyes over Eren's bulging stomach. “Ab-so-lutely delusional. Says here not to pay attention to anything he says.”

“What?” Eren cried in dismay, “That's bullshit! I'm no noble! You've got to believe me!” he fell back onto his knees, moving closer towards the gap in the canvas, “I'm Eren Jaeger! That out there is Mikasa, she's my half-sister! I was in the military! But then she kidnapped me,” despite himself, his words sounded delusional, even to his own ears, “She fattened me up! She doesn't want me to go out and fight Titans!”

“Right,” the soldier responded, exchanging a quick glance with his partner, “Doesn't want you to fight Titans. Got it, kid.” They both stepped back out of sight. “Spread the word,” the soldier spoke softly, intending to be too quiet for Eren to hear, “Let the patrols know about this kid. Could be trouble for us if he tries to make a break for it again.” 

“No!” Eren yelled in frustration, “She's lying!” He yelped as the cart rumbled underneath him, and lost his balance. He landed on the floor with a thud, his hands clenched into fists. The sound of hooves had started up again, though at a slower trot than before. He rolled himself back into a sitting position, with some difficulty given how the cart was swaying from side to side, and scowled at the gap in the canvas. He could see the military police in the distance, talking to one another, one mimicking Eren by holding his arms in front of his stomach, and puffing his cheeks out. 

“So what the hell did you say about me?” Eren addressed Mikasa as he slouched against the front of the cart, his arms folded across his meaty chest, “Don't I deserve to know that much?”

“You know this,” Mikasa chided gently, Eren realised that there must have been members of the military police still in earshot, “You ran away from home, wanting to join the military that you admire so much. You were found in an abandoned farmyard, struggling to fend for yourself. A local farmer found you by chance, and contacted your father. I was then asked to escort you back to you rightful home, behind Wall Sina.”

“Bullshit,” Eren muttered, slouching down further against the canvas, “So what now? You're going to deliver me to my father? Good luck with that.” 

“I have my orders,” Mikasa stated simply, Eren could jut picture the frustratingly stoic look on her face, “You know that.” 

Another awkward silence passed between them. Eren sighed, and looked up towards the canvas ceiling overhead. The fact that Mikasa had a plan didn't bode well for him. The fact that she had managed to get him behind the wall was even worse. If he somehow got away from her, the military police would be quick to send him back to her. And with his current bulk? He was going to be an enormous target, no matter how stealthy he tried to be. 

“We're almost there,” Mikasa spoke up after a long moment, “You have a choice, Eren. Do what I say, and don't make this difficult. You're only going to come off looking worse than you already have.” The horses hooves began to slow to a steadier trot, and Eren could see glimpses of sandy coloured town-houses through his gap in the canvas, which looked a lot grander than those he had seen before. “Or you fight me. I drug you, and when you come to? You'll be twice the size that you are now.” 

~*~

Frightened by Mikasa's threat, Eren had no choice but to fall in step with her. He trembled with barely suppressed rage as she helped him out of the cart. She led him into one of the town-houses, one that looked as if it had seen better days. A thin layer of dust had settled over the grand carpets, dimming their once bright colours to more neutral tones. The furniture was covered with white sheets, adding to the haunted sensation that was creeping over Eren. He allowed himself to be guided up the sweeping staircase, the bronze banister dulled from disuse, and onto the second floor. There he was led into a bedroom, one that was roughly the size of a small apartment. 

This room had been cleaned, Eren noticed. The floors had been swept until they shone, the bedding had recently been washed, he could still smell the soap powder clinging to them. Heavy drapes had been pulled across the windows, so a few lamps had been lit to try and pierce the invading gloom. Another door led out to a bathroom, Eren only caught a glimpse of it as he passed. Clothes were hung up in one of the open wardrobes, clothes that were designed for the larger person. Eren swallowed past the lump in his throat, when had he become the sort of person that could fit into clothes like that?

“The rules are as follows,” Mikasa instructed as she left Eren's side, the harsh lines of her pale face softer in the lamplight, “You are not to leave this room. Your every need will be catered for. You can make as much noise as you like, both houses either side of us have been informed of your... delusional state.” She folded her arms across her chest, her dark eyes looking Eren up and down appraisingly. “You will be given meals three times a day. I'm giving you the chance to eat them on your own. Fail to do that-”

“And you'll drug me and force me to anyway,” Eren finished bitterly, sinking down onto the edge of the four-poster bed, “I don't get it, Mikasa. You drugged me on and off for what, three months back at the farm? If you really want to stuff me until I can't move, why not do that again? Like I've said,” he met her gaze with a scowl, “I don't want this. You'd have an easier time of things if you did that.”

“Because you should want this,” Mikasa knelt before him, a pale hand resting on the bulge of Eren's stomach, “You should want me to take care of you. You should want to,” she bit down on her lower lip, fingers trailing over a roll of flesh, “You should want this. To be kept. I believe I can make you see that.” She drew her hand back as Eren shuddered, her stoic expression sliding flawlessly back into place. “In addition to the meals, I am going to start weighing you. Measuring you.” She stood, her gaze not leaving Eren's gut. “It's harder to tell when you are gaining now that you are bigger.”

“What?!” Eren snapped, his face heating up self-consciously, “ Mikasa, you gotta be kidding-”

“Do you want the drugs?” Mikasa stared Eren down challengingly, “No? Then come with me. I want to weigh you now. To see what I have to work with.” 

Sullenly, Eren rose to his feet. He followed Mikasa into the bathroom, his toes curling up from the coldness of the tiled floor, he could even feel it through his socks. A large set of scales was pushed up against the wall, looking a lot like the ones they had used back at the military barracks. All of the new recruits had been measured and weighed when they had signed up, Eren recalled as Mikasa fussed with the delicate mechanisms of the set of scales. How much had he weighed? He hadn't paid any attention, he had been more concerned with his height. He had remembered being put out because Mikasa was the exact same height as him, yet she was around ten pounds heavier; and all of that had been pure muscle. 

“You were 139lbs (63kg/9.9 stones),” Mikasa interrupted Eren's train of thought, and gestured for him to get onto the scales, “I imagine that has changed.” Eren stepped onto the metal plate set at the base of the scales, and winced on hearing the springs creak in protest. Mikasa began swiping small weights across the top of the device, her lips moving as she counted. The corner of her lips curved into the hint of a smile as she had to pull yet more weights across, and Eren felt his heart sink. He didn't know much about how the scales worked, but he knew that the fact it was taking a while wasn't good news. 

“Oh Eren,” Mikasa murmured once she had her final number, and for a split second she looked like the Mikasa that Eren remembered, “You've done so well. 275 lbs (124kg/19.6 stones). But, I think that you can do better,” she patted his stomach with the air of a proud mother, her dark eyes shining with twisted pride, “I want to see you at 300lbs (136kg/21.4 stones) by this time next week.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Day I**

It appeared that Mikasa had been serious about getting Eren to gain fifteen pounds in just one week. Eren stared at the meal that had been placed in front of him in some surprise, and it took every ounce of self control that he had to stop himself from drooling. It was food, it was real food, not that awful porridge Mikasa had been feeding him. A shank of meat glistened on the plate in front of him, glazed with something that smelled sweet and slightly herby. A mountain of roasted potatoes were piled next to it, each large and crisped to perfection. Several rolls of stuffing threatened to spill over the edge of the plate, and Eren could spot a couple of lean sausages tucked underneath. Everything was drowned with a generous helping of gravy, just how Eren liked it. 

“You should eat it before it gets cold,” Mikasa suggested as she placed a knife and fork either side of the meal, “I want you to eat everything on your plate. It's been a while since you last had a proper meal.” She had set Eren up at the table and chair in the corner of his room, Eren could barely remember the last time he had been able to sit at the table for his meal. He stared at the meal in front of him, his stomach growling and churning underneath the slightly too-big shirt that Mikasa had picked out for him from the wardrobe. 

He was meant to resist. He was meant to be defiant. But the moment that he sliced off a piece of rich meat, and placed it on his tongue? He was lost. He swallowed hurriedly, stabbing the tines of his fork into a roast potato. He crammed that into his mouth once he had finished swallowing the meat, and barely stopped to chew as he chopped into the stuffing with the side of his fork. He scooped up the crumbs, along with another potato, and that was too crammed between his lips. The savoury flavours mingled and soaked onto his starved taste-buds, a low moan of relief sounding in the base of his throat. He shovelled the food from his plate and into his mouth, not caring for the gravy that trickled down his chin, or the clump of potato that missed his mouth and landed on his shirt. He barely paused to breath between mouthfuls, his fork jabbing wildly at the food left on his plate. 

Slowly, his stomach began to round out underneath the loose folds of his shirt. It grew taut as more food was packed into it, stretching to accommodate. The waistband of his pants became uncomfortably tight, and Eren barely paused in his eating to reach down and undo the top button. He ignored the delighted gasp from Mikasa, he had been steadfastly ignoring her during his binge. A part of him was humiliated for acting like an animal, for stuffing his face like a greedy pig. The other part, the stronger part, the fatter part? Just wanted food. Just wanted every last piece of food on that plate, to the point where he raised his plate at the end of the meal, and greedily drank the last few dregs of gravy. 

“There's dessert too,” Mikasa murmured breathlessly as she took the plate from Eren's hands, “I didn't think I would have to bring it up so soon. I-” she seemed genuinely flustered as she stepped away from him, “I won't be long.” Eren panted softly in the aftermath of his binge, and looked down with a wince at his bulging stomach. It rose and fell with each breath, pushing against the confines of his previously too big shirt. It didn't come close to filling out the fabric just yet, but it was clearly visible. Eren reached up to wipe a hand over the back of his mouth, closing his eyes as he sighed deeply. 

The worst part of it all was that he still wasn't full. His stomach had grown accustomed to being packed with porridge, and that left him with more than enough room to pack more fattening food into him. His eyes flew open on hearing Mikasa return. She set down a large chocolate cake in front of him, covered with a thick layer of chocolate icing. She didn't bother to cut him a slice, instead she simply handed him a fork. Eren took it, and looked at the enormous cake. Each tier was packed with more chocolate, so much chocolate that it was more chocolate than sponge. 

Eren exhaled shakily, before digging his fork into the top layer. The first mouthful of sweet chocolate melted in his mouth, and Eren was barely aware of what he was doing as he took another helping before swallowing the first. 

**Day II**

“You only gained one pound,” Mikasa informed Eren at his weigh in the following day, “That isn't good enough. To be on target we need to double that.” Eren scowled as he climbed down from the scales, his stomach still sore and distended from the previous day. He had been given three enormous meals, all with fattening desserts afterwards. He had barely been able to sleep with his stomach so rounded out and packed tightly, it was still tight to the touch. He rubbed at the side of his gut absently, hoping to ease the tension a little. He belched quietly, and turned his head away from Mikasa before he could see her reaction.

“It's a bit extreme, isn't it?” Eren remarked sullenly, “I don't think it's possible to gain that much weight in a week.” He felt as if he had already gained several pounds, and it made his stomach ache. “You do know that I have no hope in hell of fitting into the 3DM gear now, right?” Mikasa was ignoring him, a slender finger held to her chin in thought. 

“I have an idea,” Mikasa nodded slightly as she walked out of the bathroom with a purposeful stride, “I know that you can do it, Eren. I believe in you.” Eren rolled his eyes as he followed her out, before recoiling slightly as she turned to him, with a new shirt in hand. He knew at a glance that it was going to barely fit him, and he raised an eyebrow at her. “Just put it on,” Mikasa insisted, with that faint smile of hers, “You need a clean shirt.”

Eren couldn't argue with her there. His one from the previous day was covered with food stains, given his pig like habits when it came to having real food in front of him. He pulled his pyjama top off over his head, and attempted to pull the clean shirt on. The sleeves were tight over his flabby upper arms, and he could barely button it up over his protruding stomach. He inhaled in order to get the last few buttons into place, and on exhaling, gaps appeared between them. Rolls of flesh poked out between the gaps in the fabric, which was so impossibly tight that it felt like a second skin. 

“Good,” Mikasa's fingers twitched, as if desperate to run her hands over that tightly packed gut, “Today, you're going to eat until you break out of that shirt. Until every last button-” as she spoke, she poked gently at the straining buttons, “Comes open. Sit down.” She nudged Eren towards the table and chair, filled with a new energy as she spun away towards the door. Eren groaned as he sat down heavily in the chair. It felt as if the buttons would pop off if he exhaled too deeply, he could only hope that they would break off from breakfast alone. 

_Pop!_

The first button pinged off as Eren swallowed a glass of sweet orange juice. It flicked across the table and landed on the floorboards with a clatter.

_Pop! Pop!_

The second and third buttons had been struggling to hold back the crest of Eren's stomach, where it bulged out the furthest. They gave up the struggle after Eren had eaten a mouthful of creamy mashed potatoes, which had been soaked in a mixture of cream and butter. The curve of his stomach grew outwards, filling the slits in the tight cotton shirt with an alarming speed.

_Pop!_

The fourth button had been more stubborn. It had only burst open after Eren had leant forwards to pull his plate closer to him. It rolled onto the table, and span in small circles until it landed on it's side. 

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

Eren cried out in surprise as three buttons ripped open without warning. He swallowed his mouthful of sponge and custard, his chubby cheeks stained red as he looked down at himself. Only the top-most button remained. The two sides of the shirt were now spread either side of his blossoming belly. He could barely look over his bloated stomach now that it had protruded into his lap. He sank back against the chair, groaning from even that small movement. The final button was sat just below his sternum, and while it was pulled tightly across his heftier chest, it didn't appear to be close to bursting open.

“That's not good enough,” Mikasa sighed as she cleared away Eren's plates, “I told you. All of the buttons.” 

**Day III**

Despite Mikasa feeding him throughout the previous evening, the last button had yet to burst open. Eren had never been so full before, it felt as if every last inch of his stomach was crammed with food. Mikasa had been up and down for most of the night, with plates of treats. Eren had worked his way through rounds of buttery toast, sweet teacakes with a generous smothering of cream, and a bowl of soup that was packed with enough meat to make it closer to a stew. Snacks were encouraged in-between, bags of sweets and bars of chocolate had passed through Eren's lips, and yet the button held. 

That morning, Eren could hardly move. He had barely made it to the bathroom unassisted, before collapsing back onto the bed, the mattress creaking alarmingly underneath him. Mikasa had sensed that Eren was in no state to sit at the table that morning, and had instead insisted on feeding him in bed. Eren, desperate to get that last fucking button to burst open, allowed her. His stomach felt as if it were going to burst open, and was so taut that it's surface was almost drum-like. 

A bowl of sweet porridge was spooned past his lips, along with scrambled eggs and sausages. Eren still craved each and every mouthful of food despite how uncomfortable he felt, and he hated every last minute of it. Mikasa was gentle as she fed him, waiting between each mouthful for Eren to swallow. It was a far cry from how she had been when she had last fed him, and Eren was grateful for it. His dismay grew as the end of breakfast approached, and the button was still holding on. It was tight, and the surrounding cotton had torn slightly, but it was still clinging on. 

“Drink,” Mikasa suggested, handing Eren a glass of milk, “To wash it down.” 

Eren tilted the glass to his lips, and drank. The milk was thick and creamy, and slid down his throat with the consistency of melted ice-cream. Any gaps remaining in his distended stomach were filled with it, and Eren's heart skipped a beat as he felt his belly swell slightly. He drank deeply, gulping air in with each mouthful. He was nearing the end of the glass when he finally felt the top of his shirt give. 

_Ping!_

The final button shot off with some force, and would have hit Mikasa had she not moved out of the way just in time. Eren finished his last mouthful of creamy milk, and sank back against his pillows. He didn't protest as Mikasa took the glass away from him, and could only stare at his packed gut as it rose and fell between the tattered remains of his shirt. He slid further down the bed so that he could lie on his back, his quivering stomach rising up towards the ceiling. 

Exhausted by his efforts, Eren fell into a deep sleep. Mikasa, sensing that he needed time to recover from his day-and-a-bit of near continuous stuffing, left him alone for the rest of the day. 

**Day IV**

“Eight pounds!” Mikasa declared the following morning, “I knew that you had it in you, Eren. That's a total of nine. You're on target,” she ran her hand over the edge of Eren's much softer stomach, which had thankfully become less taut after several hours without food, “You're over target,” she added shyly, the tips of her fingers sinking into the soft flab, “Just a little. I knew that you could do it. Oh,” she drew her hand back, startled as Eren's stomach growled, “Are you hungry?” 

“Yes,” Eren muttered, stepping off the scales with a thud, “I am.” A shamed blush rose to his cheeks as he walked out of the bathroom, and to his usual place at the table. He could feel the extra pounds on his gut, it stuck out even further than ever. He kept his pyjama top on for comfort, it was loose and the fabric was forgiving against his stomach whenever it bloated out. His stomach growled again, and Eren was almost bent over double from the sharp pain that radiated through it. Hunger. He was starving. He had become so accustomed to eating so much, that even a few hours without food was unbearable. 

He wasn't surprised to see that Mikasa had set down a glass full of that creamy milk next to his breakfast. It was going to be an addition with every meal from that moment on. Eren took up a spoon to start digging into the mixture of soft scrambled eggs and cut up bacon, his stomach groaning in relief as the warm food entered it. He ate quickly, and it was in a dismayingly short amount of time that the edge of his spoon was scraping across the empty plate. He barely had time to blink before it had been replaced, by a platter piled high with butter soaked toast. 

**Day V**

Mikasa had declared that Eren's two pound weight gain was 'disappointing'. She had stormed out of the bedroom, leaving Eren to stare at the plate of bacon and eggs that she had left for him. He began eating slowly, trying to pace himself despite the hunger gnawing deep inside of his stomach. He chewed as he thought, only pausing in his eating to sip at the glass of creamy milk; despite himself, he liked the taste of it. Eleven pounds in five days wasn't anything to be angry at from Mikasa's point of view, Eren reasoned to himself. He was just four pounds off the target she had set for him, with two days left to accomplish it. At his current gaining rate, he was going to make it. 

Eren shivered. He was going to be a staggering 300lbs in a matter of days. He had stopped being pudgy, stopped being fat, now he was obese. He was almost wider than he he was tall, in his eyes, and his once lean body had been replaced by rolls of fat. His stomach was huge, easily the main focal point of his weight gain. It looked as if someone had stuck a ball underneath his shirt in a fit of fun, and then had inflated it until it was close to bursting. His gut was starting to hang slightly from the sheer weight of it, which in turn was pulling at Eren's back muscles. 

His thighs were wide and thick, and rubbed against one another with each step that he took. His behind was round and plush, and stuck out further than he realised. He had caught it on the door frame many a time, and he was paranoid that he would get wedged in the bathroom doorway if he entered it from the wrong angle. His arms were covered in a layer of flab, and his face grew rounder by the day. A double chin had started to form whenever he looked down, Mikasa had taking to poking at it whenever it appeared. Eren poked at the side of his stomach, watching miserably as his finger sunk into the soft flesh. 

Mikasa wasn't going to stop at 300lbs. He knew that much.

**Day VI**

“You're doing this on purpose now,” Mikasa watched as Eren climbed down from the scales, “One pound. Again. Why can't you do this? I'm doing everything for you, and you're stalling?” A rare flush of anger stained her pale cheeks. Eren ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he tried to reason with his sister. 

“Mikasa,” Eren began slowly, “I'm stuffing my face pretty much all of the time. What more do you want me to do?” He was kept almost constantly full, though not to the extent of that awful day when he had been stuffed to his limits. He had his three meals a day, at nine, one, and six o'clock. In between those, he was being fed on the hour with small, but fattening dishes. And inbetween those, Mikasa had left baskets of snacks for him to work through. He had drank countless glasses of creamy milk, and still his weight gain had stalled somewhat. Eren winced as he heard Mikasa slam his breakfast plate down onto the table, and padded out of the bathroom. Her eyes were dark and flint like in her face, her lips drawn into a fine line. 

“Eat!” Mikasa snapped before leaving the room, slamming the door behind her with a lot more force than necessary. Eren risked a nervous smile as he sat down to eat his breakfast. Mikasa getting angry meant that she was losing her calm exterior. It meant that she was losing control. If she lost control, Eren reasoned, he stood a chance of getting out of this. Even someone as cool and collected as Mikasa couldn't keep up a front forever. If she slipped, even a fraction, Eren could strike. Feeling slightly better, he began to eat, the sugar and honey laden porridge melting in his mouth. 

He barely saw Mikasa for the rest of that day. He got his meals as usual, and his food as usual, but it came in great piles, all at once. He worked his way steadily through them, ignoring the fluttering sensation of hope deep down inside of his gut. He felt more relaxed without Mikasa watching him as he ate, and as a result he ate more than he would have. 

It was a fat and full Eren that waddled to bed that night, and sank onto the mattress. He closed his eyes, listening as Mikasa busied herself with cleaning away the plates from his supper. He feigned sleep when she looked over at him, forcing his breathing into a more natural pattern. Mikasa had been quiet, almost too quiet. He opened his eyes once she had left the room, looking worriedly up at the ceiling. 

When Mikasa was quiet, it meant that she had a plan.

**Day VII**

Eren had barely stepped onto the scales when Mikasa lashed out at him. The heel of her palm struck his chubby cheek, and he fell. He fell back against the bathtub with a thud that knocked the wind out of him, and looked up at Mikasa with terrified eyes. She was angry, her face was flushed, and her narrow shoulders were rising and falling with each frustrated breath. Eren held a hand to his rapidly bruising cheek, trying to inch away as Mikasa drew closer. 

“You lost weight,” Mikasa hissed savagely, “You LOST weight!”

“How?!” Eren pleaded, trying to scramble to his feet, it wasn't easy at his weight, “That's impossible! You've seen it, I've not stopped eating!” He flinched as Mikasa raised her hand again, but she stopped herself with a resigned sigh. She closed her eyes, and the anger seemed to seep from her. Replaced with a cold calm, one that set shivers down Eren's spine. When she opened her eyes again, Mikasa was smiling. A blank, empty smile that didn't reach her impossibly dark eyes. 

“Don't worry,” Mikasa murmured slowly, “I thought this might happen. So I decided to plan ahead. Eren,” she held a pale hand down towards him, to help him up, “I promised to help you. I will not go back on that promise.” Eren took Mikasa's hand, and found his feet. Terror clutched at his heart as Mikasa stared at him, through his eyes, and into his very soul. 

What had she planned?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone for the nice comments. This started out as a random idea, which you can probably tell by the awkward direction it went in, and grew into something else. I'm hoping to finish it in the chapter after this one, but I do have another weight gain Attack on Titan fanfic in the works.

Mikasa led Eren out of his bedroom, and back down the sweeping staircase. Eren found himself a little breathless as he followed her, Mikasa didn't seem to take into consideration that he couldn't move as quickly or as easily as he once could. He now had, Eren struggled to work out the exact numbers in his head, at least a good 150lbs on his old weight. His thighs wobbled and brushed against one another with each unsteady step, and to Eren's horror, he was starting to develop a waddle. He quickened his pace to keep up with the striding Mikasa, but all that did was make parts of him jiggle.

Mikasa led him to a wooden door that was set underneath the staircase. As she pulled it open, Eren shivered at the cold air that rushed over them. Mikasa tugged on his hand impatiently, and Eren had little choice other than to follow her inside. His still was burning from where she had hit him, and he found that a small part of him was scared of this Mikasa. She had slipped again, she wasn't his sister, she was that desperate person who would go to any lengths to protect him. Someone who, as Armin had predicted, had suffered quite the spectacular mental breakdown. 

“Mikasa?” Eren's voice was loud in the eerie silence of the basement, “What happened to Armin?” Mikasa hesitated slightly, he could see her shoulders tense, but continued to lead him down the stone basement stairs. “I mean it, Mikasa,” Eren continued warningly, “This has nothing to do with him, and you know it.”

“I did what I had to do,” Mikasa spoke eventually, “He's safe. You'll see him soon.”

“I will?” Hope flared in Eren's chest. While he wished that Armin had managed to get away, the more selfish part of him was eager to see him again. The blond had been a literal ray of sunshine during his imprisonment, and he was someone that he desperately needed right now. Someone who wasn't trying to stuff him until he was too fat to move. “What do you mean by 'safe'? Mikasa?” Eren added warningly, “He is okay, right?” 

“Yes,” Mikasa hissed a sigh between clenched teeth as they came to a halt at the bottom of the basement steps, “Ask him yourself.”

Eren's breath caught in his throat. There he was, his blond hair shining in the weak lamplight. Armin was slouched in a chair, leather straps holding him in place. His head had lolled against his shoulder, it looked as if he were sleeping, or unconscious. Or worse. Eren felt sick as he hurried closer, before stopping short on seeing the bizarre machinery that surrounded the chair. Metal arms were linked to powerful pistons, and a large, cylindrical tank took up almost an entire corner of the basement. A couple of rubber tubes snaked from the tank, one leading close to where Armin was. It ended up a clear mask, which was hung up on a hook just over his head. 

Armin had always been thin, for as long as Eren had known him. The blond had naturally had a frail, delicate body shape, despite the fullness of his face. He had seemed a little thinner than usual when Eren had last seen him, though he wasn't sure if that was because Armin simply looked smaller against his now much larger frame. But, Eren shook as he approached his friend, Armin looked different. Armin looked fuller. Eren raised two shaking fingers to Armin's neck to check for a pulse, and he almost sank to his knees in relief on finding one.

“How?” Eren moved his hands down Armin's prone form, his heart racing. Armin had gone from being a little too thin to bordering on chubby in just over a week, by his best guess. His once concave stomach had pooched out into a soft belly, Eren touched it with gentle fingers, inwardly marvelling at how supple it was. He scolded himself for having such awful thoughts, but his hands trembled with something bordering on excitement as he felt down Armin's thicker thighs. He couldn't reach, and he didn't allow himself to reach, but Armin's backside was much rounder than before, to the point of pulling at the seat of his pants. 

“You never did pay attention in history class,” Mikasa chided, almost gently, “It's an automatic feeding machine. It's used to feed those who are unable to do themselves. Or who refuse to. It's often used in sanatoriums, but it has been used for prisoners on hunger strike.” She approached the tank, and Eren could see that it was half filled with a thick, cream coloured liquid. “A nutritious mixture is pumped from here,” Mikasa's thin fingers ran along the rubber tubing, “Through here,” she walked slowly towards Eren and Armin, the click of her boots echoing off of the basement walls, “To here.” She touched the hanging mask, sending the strap swaying. 

“I... okay, that wasn't exactly what I was asking,” Eren fought to keep the tremble out of his voice, the idea of a machine like that was horrifying to him, “The last time I saw Armin, he was... well, he was Armin!” He wrapped one of his hands about Armin's own, giving it a small squeeze. “That was only a week ago. Did this machine really do all of this?” The look of pride that entered Mikasa's dark eyes was sickening.

“When one is being fed around the clock, one will gain weight a little more rapidly,” Mikasa explained patiently, “I decided to run a little experiment, to see how well this would work. Between you and Armin. You gained 11lbs with just food alone in a week, if-,” she exhaled sharply, clearly still annoyed, “- if you count the pound that you lost. You fell short of your target.”

“And Armin?” Eren was awful at guessing weights, but he knew that the blond had to have put on more than just eleven pounds. 

“See for yourself,” Mikasa fiddled with a set of small weights behind Armin's chair, a set up similar to the set of scales upstairs, “Armin's starting weight, to my best knowledge, was 121lbs (55kg/8.6 stones). But now?” she nodded as she slid one of the weights into place, the corner of her lips curling up into the faintest hints of a smile. “145lbs. (65kg/10.3 stones). 24 lbs in a week. That is,” Mikasa's gaze fell longingly to Eren's stomach, “That's amazing. Don't you think?” 

“You're gonna use this on me?” Eren's voice shook as he looked up, not liking the delighted expression on Mikasa's face, “Seriously? It feels like I keep saying this but Mikasa, you've really gone too far this time. I'm... we're,” he gestured to himself and Armin, “We're not animals being fattened for slaughter!”

“I either use the machine on you,” Mikasa confirmed with a small nod, “Or I use it on Armin. The choice is yours, Eren.” 

“I will,” Eren responded automatically, and given the flash of satisfaction that crossed Mikasa's expression, she had been expecting that answer, “Listen,” he added desperately, “I'll sit in that damn chair and you can feed me the.. the whole damn tank if you want to. I won't resist. Just,” he looked at the unconscious Armin, “Just give me until he wakes up. Okay? He's here and he's how he is, all because of me! Just,” Eren sighed, running a hand down his face, “Just give me some time with him?”

To both his surprise and relief, Mikasa nodded. 

“I need to prepare more mixture. You can have until I am done doing that,” Mikasa turned on her heel, making a point of swinging a large, silver key from her hand, “Don't try anything stupid, Eren. I'm trusting you.” Once she had disappeared up the basement stairs, Eren turned his full attention to Armin. 

“I'm so sorry Armin,” Eren reached up to begin unbuckling the leather straps that held Armin in place, “This is all because of me. You're only here because of me. She did this to you- his works almost failed to get past the lump in his throat, so Eren bowed his head and began working to free Armin's arm, “I'm just... so sorry.” He worked quickly, and before long, Armin slumped forwards into his arms. He winced in surprise at the weight, but was able to move them both onto a pile of musty blankets. There wasn't quite enough room for them both, so Eren settled for resting Armin against him, or more precisely, against the side of his stomach.

It was around an hour later that Armin began to stir. Eren watched as the blond peeled his cheek away from his side, his blue eyes blinking dazedly at him. He smiled on seeing Eren, his even chubbier cheeks dimpling in that way that made Eren's heart skip a beat. Armin moved to sit up, his hands pushing gently against Eren's rolls of fat to try and get some leverage. When he sunk against the soft flab instead, Armin just shook his head, and settled back down against Eren's side instead. He even nuzzled against Eren's shoulder to get comfortable, and Eren found himself swallowing hard at the sensation that flooded through him.

“I'm glad you're alright, Eren,” Armin's voice was slurred slightly, which Eren recognised as being a side effect of the drugs that Mikasa had used on him, “I was so worried about you.”

“I was worried about you,” Eren responded, a little more angrily than he had intended, “Armin, what happened? Back in the forest...”

“I don't know,” Armin admitted after a moment, “Mikaka injected you with a syringe, and you passed out. I went to check that you were alright, and I felt a-” he reached around to the back of his neck, “I felt a sharp pain. She must have gotten me too. When I woke up, I was here,” his next words sent a chill down Eren's spine, “With you.”

“What?” Eren murmured, his voice starting to rise in alarm, “Armin, that's the last thing you remember? Passing out in the forest?” Armin's slow nod did nothing to calm the rapid beating of his heart. Armin had been out of it the entire time he had been here, Eren realised in horror. Armin had been barely conscious the entire time that Mikasa was 'feeding' him, just like Eren had been back at the farmhouse. Armin, Eren looked at his chubbier friend, Armin didn't know what had happened to him. 

“Armin,” Eren began uneasily, he was never the best at being subtle, or even delicate with his words, “Mikasa... Mikasa got you too. You've been hooked up to some sort of... feeding machine. She drugged you and she fed you... she did the same to me. But this,” Eren gritted his teeth, at least he had been allowed his lucid moments, “This is worse.”

Eren watched as Armin looked down, his slightly glazed eyes widening on seeing himself. Thin fingers prodded at the curve of his belly, Eren had to bite his lip on seeing how Armin's shirt was puckered across the small swell of flesh. Armin rolled his shirt up, revealing the full extent of his pale and quivering stomach. Like Eren, most of the extra pounds had gone to Armin's stomach. Eren watched as Armin explored his new belly with probing fingers, his breath catching as Armin pinched a rather generous inch. Guilt and pleasure curdled in his stomach, and he was grateful when Armin lowered his shirt again. 

“I didn't even realise,” Armin murmured in shock, “No wonder Mikasa was able to make you gain weight so easily. I,” he faltered, unable to take his eyes off his stomach, “I just... “

“Hey,” Eren caught Armin's hand in his own, gripping it tightly, “Don't worry. I don't think Mikasa is going to do that to you again. She gave me a choice,” he hadn't quite realised the implications of it until then, “I'm gonna take your place. In that thing,” he gestured with his head towards the feeding machine, “So don't worry.”

“Eren, no,” Armin began to protest, but he was silenced by Eren's finger on his lips. 

“Listen,” Eren insisted, “It's me she wants to fatten up. Not you. She's already gotten me pretty badly,” he sighed as he prodded at the roll of flesh that ran underneath his ever softening chest, “What's a few more pounds?”

“A few more?” Armin's lips moved against Eren's index finger, “Eren, look at me... I must have gained what, twenty pounds? In how long?”

“A week,” Eren swallowed heavily, “Actually it's more like twenty four pounds...” 

“Twenty four?” Armin repeated in alarm, before sighing, his small shoulders slumping, “Fine. Say twenty five a week. That's a hundred pounds a month, Eren.”

“I'm almost hitting three hundred,” Eren cottoned on, horror filling him, “She... she really is going to make me too fat to move. Too fat to escape, too fat to fit through the fucking door!” 

“It's going to be alright,” Armin soothed, a hand resting against Eren's fleshy upper arm, “The Survey Corps, they'll find us. It might take a while, but they'll find us,” he smiled a little at Eren's confused look, though it didn't quite have the strength of his earlier smile, “Before I left, I told both Jean and Annie about my suspicions. I then called the barracks on finding Mikasa. I watched the farmhouse for a while, remember?”

Eren nodded slowly, he could vaguely remember Armin telling him that. A brief spark of hope flared in his chest, but a part of him still couldn't believe that he might finally be rescued. 

“So I called them from the nearby town,” Armin continued, “Once I had confirmed that both you and Mikasa were there. I asked for back up, and they said that they would have to pass the details on to one of the higher ups. I was to call them again the next day, but that was when Mikasa caught up with us in the forest.”

“So,” Eren began slowly, “They were expecting a phone call from you, but didn't get one. Do you really think that they're going to come all of the way out here for a couple of recruits?”

“Maybe not,” Armin agreed with a small, but reluctant nod, “But your disappearance caused quite a stir. Both you and Mikasa were considered to be some of the best out of the recruits, and it didn't seem as if you would leave. I always knew that it was against your own wishes. I just,” he shook his head slowly, strands of hair sliding against his full cheeks, “I just didn't realise that Mikasa was... that she would ever...” 

Eren sank back until his fleshy back hit the wall behind him. It was all a long shot, basically. Armin might have had faith in Jean and Annie, but Eren didn't. Annie wasn't too bad, if a little cold, but Jean? Jean hated him. Jean, the narrow faced bastard who just had to try and show him up whenever he could. Eren scowled, Jean was the one who wanted to sit behind Wall Sina and cower, not him! So why was he there, and not Jean? His eyes widened with a sudden realisation.

“Wait,” Eren looked over at Armin, “Kirstein wanted to join the Military Police. Wasn't that what Annie wanted to do as well? So how-”

“Jean changed his mind,” Armin's smile grew a little stronger, and for a moment Eren felt a flash of deep jealousy, “Because of you, I think. He wouldn't admit it. He's part of the Survey Corps now. But Annie did join the Military Police. I still contacted her. It turns out,” Armin raised his gaze up to the ceiling, “That it might have been a good idea. Annie will be behind Wall Sina with us, and she'll know that we need help.”

“And the Military Police know that I'm here,” Eren flushed awkwardly, “Sort of. They think I'm the-” he had to swallow his pride, “That I'm the fat and deluded son of a noble, that thinks that he could be a soldier.” Saying that out loud hurt him more than he cared to admit, and he looked down at his bulging belly. “Mikasa is supposed to be my escort. The guy she spoke to, he said about alerting the rest of them about me, should I try and escape again.” 

“Then if we're lucky,” Armin gave a small sigh of relief, “Annie will hear about it, put two and two together, and realise it's you and Mikasa.” He looked upwards on hearing the basement door bang open, Eren followed his gaze to see Mikasa making her way down the steps. She was carrying a large bottle in her arms, filled with, what Eren assumed, was the fattening mixture. Eren exchanged a look with Armin. 

They were lucky that they had stopped talking in time, Eren realised as he heaved himself up onto his feet. They had hope now. He waddled over to the chair, and sat down in it. He winced on feeling his sides pinch and flow underneath the arms, it clearly wasn't designed for someone of his size. He watched as Mikasa walked past him and towards the tank, she climbed a small set of steps towards the top of the tank. She opened the lid, and poured in the mixture. It was thick and gloopy, and oozed down the glass sides, leaving a disgusting trail behind. 

“I'm glad to see that you're hungry,” Mikasa set the empty bottle down, and approached Eren, “You'll like this.” She fitted the mask over Eren's face, having to adjust the straps to compensate for his rounded cheeks. Eren gagged slightly on feeling the end of the rubber tube reach the back of his throat, his eyes watering. Then Mikasa pulled a lever, there was the low hum of machinery starting up, and that mixture began to creep along the tube towards him. 

He swallowed as it entered his mouth, and to his own disgust, it _wasn't bad._


End file.
